


robin's roast

by envysparkler



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Brother Acquisition, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Enemy to Caretaker, Exhaustion, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Stephanie Brown, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Minor Character Death, Poison, Stephanie Brown Needs a Hug, Whump, and also using 'coffee shop' in the loosest sense of the word, but not really an AU, the author has never drank coffee and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: There’s a new coffee shop in Crime Alley.  It’s called theRed Hood.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 562
Kudos: 1111
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as: the coffeeshop au that no one asked for. (It's actually a canon divergence au wrapped up in a coffeeshop au because I know nothing about coffee.)
> 
> This was originally going to be a oneshot, then it hit 3k and I looked at the rest of my outline and decided to split it into chapters. Characters and tags will be updated as I go along.
> 
> Thanks to the batfam discord for title suggestions!
> 
> Content warning: character death (check end notes for spoilery specifics).

The first time Steph noticed it, it was edging into three o’clock in the morning after an alert at Arkham called all hands on deck, and she was too exhausted to do more than register the light over the door of a boarded-up storefront and a written sign she half-squinted at before dismissing it in favor of crawling back home and into her bed.

* * *

She was still half-asleep at breakfast, and she made it all the way to the bus stop before remembering the sign. She jogged back and found the right storefront – windows covered by steel shutters, front door completely blacked out, and a wooden sign nailed haphazardly to the door frame.

_‘Red Hood’_ the sign proclaimed.

_‘CLOSED’_ the sign underneath stated.

Steph made her way back to the bus stop, missed her bus, and glowered all the way on her walk to school. She ended up missing first period.

* * *

The light was on again as Steph returned from patrol, and she paused on the opposite building to peer curiously at the store. There was no fancy script or banner, nothing to indicate what kind of shop had taken up space on the corner next to a dark alley.

Someone with a scarf pulled up over the bottom part of their face slouched up to the front door, opened it, spilling a circle of light over the street, and disappeared inside.

She waited five minutes, but no one reappeared, and she headed back home.

* * *

Steph planned better this time. She got ready fifteen minutes early – it was supposed to be thirty, but alarms were the work of the devil – and headed to the _Red Hood_. Only to be met with a _‘CLOSED’_ sign again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Steph said flatly. What kind of shop was open at three in the morning, but not at eight?

She attempted to peer through the gaps of the black paint that covered the front door, but the shop was dark and she couldn’t see anything.

“It closes when the sun comes up,” a voice came from behind her, and she very nearly jumped out of her skin.

She turned to see a haggard-looking twenty-something staring mournfully at the locked door. “Best coffee in a ten mile radius,” the probable-college-student told her, “But only open during the night.”

Steph watched them shuffle off, and eyed the door again.

Like _that_ wasn’t suspicious at all.

This was Crime Alley, every shop was a front for someone, she’d just never seen anyone be so blatant about it.

Luckily, during the night was exactly when Spoiler operated.

* * *

The light was on when she dropped by – before the start of her patrol, and a half hour before she had to meet Robin in the East End. The sign was now turned to _‘OPEN’_ , but the blackout paint made it very difficult to see anything through the front door – she caught a glimpse of plain tile and a stray chair.

Steph crept to the alley where – yep, there was a side entrance. It was locked, but she knew how to take care of that, and a minute later, she was turning the knob and slowly easing inside.

No alarm sounded, and she emerged in what looked like a hallway between the main shop and a room behind it – the door to the room was closed, but the door leading to the shop was open, letting in warm yellow light and a faint humming. The smell of coffee filled the air.

“You know,” a low voice drawled from the shop, “I have a front door for a reason.”

Steph froze.

She didn’t move for two heart-stopping seconds, but the conversation didn’t continue and no one emerged from the shop. Steph slowly crept towards the back door, intending to poke around a little. Good old-fashioned detective work.

She readied her lock-picks and stretched a hand out to the doorknob –

“The door’s electrified,” the low voice said blandly. Steph jerked to a stop.

She eyed the hallway again – no cameras, no people, no alarms as far as she could see. She eased back from the door and kept one hand on her emergency beacon as she edged towards the other door.

The shop seemed…plain. Five tables with mismatched chairs hugged the bare walls, the countertop was cracked and faded, decorated solely by a tray with a dozen pastries, and behind the counter was a basic coffee machine, an unmarked box of coffee beans, a unlabeled jar of what she hoped was sugar, a bottle of cream, and a young man stretched out in a chair with a worn book in his hands.

The guy looked up when she entered from the back, something sharp and amused in the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in sturdy jeans and a faded Wonder Woman T-shirt – the slouch did nothing to hide his trained posture, or the way his eyes flicked over her costume, lingering on the pockets of her belt and her gloved fists.

The shirt and clinically assessing gaze gave him points. Steph wasn’t used to people taking Spoiler seriously, and she respected a man that could wear a Wonder Woman shirt in Gotham.

“You look a little short to be Batman,” the guy said.

Steph glared, respect immediately gone. “I’m Spoiler,” she snapped.

The guy frowned. “Spoiler, like ‘I beat people up while yelling out book spoilers’?” he asked.

Steph stared at him. “No,” she said sullenly, “Spoiler, as in, I _spoil_ evil plans.”

The guy didn’t respond. He didn’t have to – his raised eyebrow did a clear job of conveying his judgement.

Steph marched over to the right side of the counter and leaned against it, still glaring.

“Yes?” Rude Coffee Guy asked lazily, turning back to his book.

“What is this place?”

“It’s a coffee shop,” Rude Coffee Guy replied, managing to convey a wordless ‘ _duh_ ’ without ever looking up from his book.

“This is the saddest coffee shop I’ve ever seen,” Steph said flatly, taking another glance around the room. There were three other occupants, each sitting at different tables, each half-asleep in a cup of coffee and paying absolutely no attention to their conversation.

“No one asked you,” Rude Coffee Guy said mildly.

“No, really, it’s pathetic.”

“Ouch.”

“Do you actually get _paid_ to work here?” Steph asked. She couldn’t imagine that this place made much money. She sidled over to look at the tray – _‘PASTRIES’_ the sign proclaimed, _‘$2’_. Underneath was two lines detailing allergen information, but made no mention of other ingredients.

“I own the place so, technically, no.”

Steph snapped her gaze back to Rude Coffee Guy.

“You own this place,” she said in tones of deep skepticism, “Yeah, right, how old are you?”

Rude Coffee Guy looked up, met her gaze, and said, with a straight face, “Twenty-five.”

Steph looked at him. At strangely vibrant green eyes, the lock of bleached hair falling into his eyes, and the heavy jut of his jaw. She would eat her left boot if the guy was older than twenty.

“Uh-huh,” she responded, still skeptical. Rude Coffee Guy turned back to his book.

“Leave,” he said, “I have a very strict ‘no vigilantes allowed’ policy.”

Steph leaned further on the counter, but stopped short of saying _‘make me’_ because she wasn’t twelve.

“I’m a paying customer,” Steph informed him, “I’d like a coffee.”

Rude Coffee Guy sighed, deep and put-upon, and straightened out of his chair – Steph hastily leaned back. Sitting down, he’d looked dangerous. Standing, nearly a foot taller than her and movements quick and silent, he looked like a _threat_.

Definitely something fishy going on. People who moved like _that_ didn’t operate hole-in-the-wall coffee shops.

“Cream and sugar?” he asked, in a tone of absolute boredom.

“Two cream and four sugars,” Steph responded.

Rude Coffee Guy slowly turned towards her, and Steph flushed at his silent judgement. Sue her for not liking bitter things.

He prepared her coffee the way she wanted, though, all of his movements in easy view as he poured in cream and sugar and stirred it before offering the cup – takeaway, not a mug, the hint was obvious – and said, blank, “That’ll be $2.25.”

Steph counted out the exact change and handed it to him before snatching her coffee and stalking out the door – the front one this time.

* * *

Holy shit, this was the most delicious coffee she’d ever _had_. She took back every uncomplimentary thought she’d had about the shop.

* * *

On the downside, it was _definitely_ a front.

* * *

Unfortunately, she’d already played her hand as Spoiler. Sure, she could’ve asked Tim or Batman, but Crime Alley was _hers_. They didn’t get to butt in on her territory. And so Steph waited for her mom to leave for the night shift and, instead of getting dressed for patrol, headed out as Stephanie Brown.

Sure enough, the shop was open.

She warily poked her head inside – the same collection of three random people as yesterday. One was the maybe-college-student she’d run into, hunched over a textbook, another was contemplating the cracks on the wall, their callused hands curled around a mug, and the last looked like they were completely passed out on the table, their mug full and steaming.

She made her way to the counter – Rude Coffee Guy was sitting in the same chair, a different book in his hands.

“Hi,” Steph cleared her throat.

“Hello,” Rude Coffee Guy responded, not looking up.

Steph stared at him. He ignored her.

“Is this the coffee shop that’s open throughout the night?” she asked.

“Sunset to sunrise,” Rude Coffee Guy confirmed.

“I’d like a coffee, please,” she said. Rude Coffee Guy straightened, giving her a dispassionate once-over as he made his way to the machine with significantly less whining than the night before.

“Cream and sugar?” he asked in disinterest.

“Two cream and –” oh _shit_ , he’d remember yesterday’s order if she ordered the same thing, “No sugar.”

“Here or to go?”

“Here, please.”

Rude Coffee Guy finished her order and put the mug on the counter, “$2.25.”

Steph eyed the pastries. It looked like blueberry scones tonight. Ah, hell, she was starving anyway.

“And one scone.”

“$4.25.”

Steph took her order and drifted to one of the two empty tables, choosing a chair that offered her a good view of everyone in the shop, including Rude Coffee Guy.

She drew out the scone, nibbling at it and resisting the urge to scarf the whole thing down because it was the best blueberry scone she’d ever had – this guy could be a pastry chef, and he was sitting in a dingy, shuttered coffee shop in Crime Alley.

Something didn’t add up. About the guy. About the shop.

But nothing was standing out at her. None of the other three occupants made a single suspicious move. Rude Coffee Guy kept reading his book. Steph choked down every sip of her coffee, fighting back a grimace at the too-bitter taste, and dallied at her seat for as long as possible.

She ended up staying an hour. Six more people came in and out, each taking their coffee and leaving.

It was just a coffee shop.

That operated solely during the dark.

In Crime Alley.

* * *

It had taken her till Monday to get a free night – she’d teamed up with Robin for a bust down by Tricorner Yard, and then she’d had her normal patrol, and then _homework_ , and then her mom was home for a night – but now she was finally free to start solving the mystery of the _Red Hood_.

She’d set up her stakeout a few minutes before sunset, on a roof that offered a view of both the front door and side alley entrance.

Definitely-college-student was hovering in front of the shop a minute into her watch. As soon as the streets went dark, the light flicked on and the door unlatched – Rude Coffee Guy opened the door and reached out to flick the sign to ‘ _OPEN_ ’.

Either he’d gotten to the shop before her, or there was an entrance she didn’t know about, or he lived above the place.

Steph glanced over the darkened windows on the second floor. She’d need some more reconnaissance before she tackled those, especially if the guy had been serious when he said that he’d electrified the doorknob.

Six hours later, Steph had recorded fifty people entering the shop, and forty-eight leaving. None of them had obvious gang or Rogue affiliations. No suspicious packages or crates delivered to either the front or side entrances. Nothing suspicious at all.

If this had been any other city on the planet, Steph would be tempted to drop the surveillance. There was clearly not a shortage of people desperate for coffee in the middle of the night, and the bare furnishings didn’t exactly hint at any unexpected revenue stream.

But this was Gotham. And things were rarely ever that simple in Gotham.

She rubbed at her eyes and sighed. There was no way she’d be able to stay awake for another six hours.

She dropped down to street level, and used the front door this time.

The two occupants of the shop didn’t blink at her presence. Rude Coffee Guy merely sighed when she reached the counter.

“Spoiler,” he said, straightening out of his chair and walking towards the coffee machine.

He prepared her order the same way he had last time, adding two spoons of cream and four spoons of sugar without a single pause. “$2.25,” he said, dropping the takeaway cup on the counter.

Steph mournfully eyed the pastries – it looked like chocolate eclairs today, but she didn’t have the money to keep buying them – and paid for the coffee.

“You know,” she said as Rude Coffee Guy counted out her change, “I never caught your name.”

“That’s because I never gave it to you.”

“I can’t keep calling you Rude Coffee Guy in my head,” Steph said, and was taken aback at the rusty chuckle. Rude Coffee Guy looked as startled as her.

He sighed, “Jay.”

“Jay…?”

“Jay,” he repeated, clipped – and there was the glare. Steph took the hint.

“Thanks for the coffee, Jay!” she said brightly, and took the cup back up to the rooftop to continue spying on Jay’s coffee shop.

* * *

When the sun rose, her eyes felt like they’d been shriveled in an oven, and she hadn’t gotten a _single_ clue as to what was up with the _Red Hood_.

* * *

Steph had to get ready for patrol in less than thirty minutes, but she was half-asleep and she needed coffee, and it wasn’t her fault that the closest coffee shop open at this time of night was also the same one she’d been intermittently surveilling.

“Sugar,” she said when Jay finished stirring in the cream, “Four spoons.” Forcing herself to drink bitter coffee wasn’t worth it, even if Jay gave her a sharp look. “Need to stay awake,” she explained, “So much homework.”

“I bet,” Jay muttered, almost under his breath, but added the four spoons of sugar. “$2.25.”

Steph fumbled through her pockets for her wallet, and automatically stepped to the side when she heard the door creak open and heavy footsteps lumbering forward. She rescued one crumpled bill on her back pocket, found a quarter in another, and patted down the others.

“This is a nice coffee shop,” the newcomer said, voice low and rough.

Steph looked up at that, a skeptical look on her face, because she was ready to worship the coffee but it was by no means a _nice shop_ – and froze.

Tall. Heavyset. Rings glinting on tattooed fingers. A smarmy smile on his face.

“You should have it insured, you know,” the man said, leaning on the counter and getting into Jay’s face. Jay stared back, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “It would be a shame if something happened to it.”

“No thanks,” Jay replied bluntly.

Steph almost choked.

“Are you sure? So many things can happen to a shop like this. Fire. Robberies. Violence. Protection is always nice.”

“I can protect myself,” Jay said levelly.

The man leaned forward, clearly intending to loom over Jay, but the younger man merely narrowed his eyes.

“Either buy a coffee or get out,” Jay snapped.

The man glared. “You’re going to regret that,” he said as he turned away.

Jay scoffed.

Steph pretended she was invisible, and silently drew out the second dollar bill before pushing the money onto the countertop, taking her coffee, and leaving.

* * *

Jay hadn’t been intimidated.

That could be bravado, except Jay spoke with a Crime Alley drawl, and any native knew exactly what ‘protection’ meant.

It could be security – the gangs didn’t often clash over territory boundaries, but it could definitely be that some henchmen got confused as to which street belonged to them.

Or it could be that Jay and the _Red Hood_ were mixed up in something far, far bigger than a simple protection racket.

* * *

Spoiler swung back home after finishing her patrol, casting her normal, cursory glance at the _Red Hood_ as she clambered across the last few rooftops – and nearly faceplanted on asphalt at the flashing lights of a cop car in front of the shop.

She crossed the street and dropped onto the fire escape to see better – there were four groaning bodies on the ground, and she recognized Tattooed Insurance Salesman. The rest must’ve been his buddies.

There was no evidence of a gunfight, but Jay was slouching against the alley wall, projecting boredom as a detective talked to him.

“– don’t know why they attacked you?”

“This is Crime Alley, lady,” Jay drawled, “If I stopped to question motives every time someone tried to mug me, I’d never get anything done.”

“Well, you certainly fended them off,” the detective said, watching one of the officers cuff the goons and load them into the waiting cop car.

“Got lucky,” Jay said, and twirled the long, thin shape in his hand – it caught the light, and Steph recognized the sight of a tire iron. “I was working on my bike when they showed up.”

“Fortuitous circumstances,” the detective nodded, and headed back to her car. Jay waited in the alley until the cars were gone, and then turned and stared up at the fire escape, directly at Steph.

He didn’t move. Steph didn’t move. They both stared at each other for a long moment before Steph clambered back up the fire escape.

* * *

Maybe the shop wasn’t a front. Maybe the shop was just a Crime Alley kid attempting to make it in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was mulling this idea over for a while, and everything clicked into place when I wondered - what if Steph was the one to stumble upon this coffee shop run by a mysterious guy with black-and-white hair and green eyes?
> 
> (Up next: Jason's big brother instincts are guaranteed in any universe.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We start to get a little bit of h/c in this part.
> 
> The most irritating part is remembering to call him Jay and not Jason.

Steph let her head drop onto the – clean, but of dubious quality – table with a muffled groan. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she could still see the words scrolling in her mind’s eye, sentences upon sentences of meaningless text.

The smell of coffee grew sharper, accompanied by the sound of a soft thud.

Steph blearily raised her head, eyeing the new mug of coffee and Jay’s raised eyebrow. “I didn’t order that,” she croaked out.

“On the house,” Jay said, eyeing her critically, “You look beat, kid. Go home.”

“Can’t,” Steph mumbled, pulling the mug towards her and inhaling a deep breath of the fumes before she took three big gulps to clear the fuzziness from her head. Two cream and four sugars. “Essay’s due tomorrow.” She’d even skipped patrol. “I don’t understand this fucking book.”

Jay peered curiously at the worn paperback. _Animal Farm_ , the title proclaimed cheerily on a backdrop of barn animals, like it wasn’t slowly sucking out her soul. “What’s your essay topic?” he asked.

“Anything,” Steph said gloomily, because that was the worst part of the assignment, “We’re supposed to come up with it ourselves.”

Jay hummed in what might’ve been sympathy, had he not made it clear that he was an asshole, and went back to the counter. The college student shot her a look that was definitely commiseration, and turned back to their textbook.

Steph took a sip of coffee and idly wondered what the book would look like if she dumped her mug on top of it.

Another soft thud, accompanied by a chair screeching, and Steph blinked in surprise when Jay plopped down on the seat across from her and pushed a plate with the pastry-of-the-night – some berry cupcake – towards her.

“What –” she started, but Jay cut her off.

“Have you read the book?”

“What?” she repeated, staring blankly at him.

“Have you read the book?” Jay repeated patiently. He nudged the plate a little closer, and she broke off a fraction of the cupcake and ate it. Delicious.

“Yeah,” she said, because she’d read the stupid thing, she was just having difficulty formulating her thoughts well enough to come up with a good essay.

“You got the main message?” Jay asked, leaning forward and flipping through the book, his eyes alight with interest.

“Blah blah communism blah blah losing sight of your ideals blah blah becoming just as bad as the very people you sought to overthrow.”

Jay looked up from the book, a slow, wicked smile curving across his face. “Sound familiar?” he asked.

Steph stared at him. He grinned back, dark shadows cutting across his amusement.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“You’re – but –”

“You wanted an essay topic, there’s an essay topic,” Jay shrugged, leaning back, “When the solution’s just as bad as the problem.”

“You want me to compare _Batman_ to a _pig_?”

“I will give you another free cupcake.”

Steph considered him. And then her watch – it was already one in the morning. And then Jay again, the way his grin – no matter how malicious it was – transformed his face into something lighter. Something younger.

“Deal.”

* * *

“Is that what you wrote your essay about?” Steph asked, yawning. The completed paper – and proofread, she took back every mean thing she’d ever thought about Jay – was in her bag, it was three in the morning, and she was going to head home and crash.

“Hmm?”

“When you read Animal Farm. Was that what you wrote your paper on?”

Jay’s hands stilled in the midst of getting another customer’s coffee.

“I never wrote a paper on it,” he said quietly.

“Bullshit. It’s required reading at the tenth grade level.”

Jay finished the order and handed the coffee over before turning back to Steph. “Circumstances conspired against me,” he said lightly.

Steph narrowed her eyes. Every Crime Alley kid knew what _that_ meant. Sure, high school was mandatory. But sometimes the gangs came around for their dues, and your parents failed to pay their debts. Truancy didn’t mean much when compared to a bullet to the head.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Jay made a startled sound that was too high to be a laugh. “It’s okay,” he said, shrugging, “Got to travel the world for bit. New experiences and all that jazz.”

“And now you own a coffee shop,” Steph said cheerily, “The best in Crime Alley!”

“And now I own the best coffee shop in Crime Alley,” Jay dutifully parroted back.

* * *

Goddamn fucking _Batman_. Sometimes Steph wished she could sock him in the face. She should’ve caught _him_ with a brick, not Tim, who’d at least tried to stop Batman when he insisted on stalking into _her_ case, ruining a week’s worth of surveillance and turning the warehouse into a shootout.

And then he’d had the nerve to blame her for _withholding essential evidence_ , and at that point, Steph had grown too furious to stay in that sanctimonious bastard’s presence.

Even if there was a wound bleeding sluggishly in her side – a stray bullet graze that she really should’ve gone to get treated in the Cave.

But _no_. She wasn’t Batman’s lackey. She didn’t have to follow his orders. She was going to go home and patch up her gash by herself, because she worked _alone_.

But first she was going to slither down this fire escape, because her side burned every time she used her grapple, and maybe lean against the cold brick wall for a minute or five while she caught her breath.

“Spoiler? …Spoiler?”

“Mhm,” Steph responded, not connecting much beyond _familiar voice_ and _not Mom_.

“Spoiler, are you okay?”

  
Steph groaned and cracked her eyes open – _what does it fucking look like, asshole_ – to meet Jay’s worried gaze. She pushed off from the wall and swayed, nearly unbalancing. She would’ve tripped to land on the ground if Jay hadn’t caught her arm and kept her upright.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice going curiously flat.

“You,” Steph huffed out a breathless laugh, “Would make a _great_ detective.”

Jay stiffened, his fingers tightening on her arm for a moment before they loosened. “Come on,” he said roughly, pulling her towards the door set in the alley.

Oh, right. She was near the coffee shop.

“My mom,” Steph slurred, stumbling forward, “Told me not to – to follow strange men.”

“Really?” Jay hummed, unlocking the door before nudging Steph inside, “And what did she say about dressing up as vigilante and going out to fight crime?”

“Was – was less clear on that,” Steph answered as Jay opened the back door, “Hey, didn’t you say that was electrified?”

“Maybe,” Jay answered, hopping down two steps to the – garage, a small one, but occupied by a gleaming red bike that Steph wanted to run her fingers over.

“My dad,” Steph said, swallowing around the lump in her throat, “My dad, though, he’d be pissed.” She tried to take the steps, but ending up tripping over them. Thankfully, Jay caught her before she had a painful introduction with the floor. “He’s a criminal,” she said quietly, gripping Jay’s shoulders as he more-or-less carried her to a table in the corner. “If he knew I was the one who’d locked him away, he’d…”

Steph didn’t finish the sentence. Jay boosted her up on top of the table, and gave her a strangely sympathetic look. “I’ll get the first aid kit,” he said, patting her knee.

Steph groaned again, and slumped back against the wall. Her head was hurting now, and the graze just below her right ribs was burning.

Jay returned with the kit and deposited it next to her, removing antiseptic and a wipe. “Can I?” he asked softly, meeting her gaze.

Steph stared at him for a long moment before making her decision. She peeled up the hem of her top, tugging it up past her injury before exhaling, her face screwed up in a grimace.

“This is going to sting,” Jay warned, and Steph leaned forward, gripping his shirt in one gloved hand as she squeezed her eyes shut.

He was right, it _did_ sting, and Steph exhaled a low stream of curses as Jay cleaned the wound, his fingers quick and precise. “Needs a couple of stitches,” he murmured, and then, “Numbing spray.”

The burn in her side gradually dissipated to a cold deadness, and Steph let her head drop, resting it on Jay’s shoulder as he tugged the needle through her skin. He finished with the stitches and wrapped the wound in gauze, careful to keep his shoulder steady, and Steph forced her eyes open when he pulled her shirt back down.

“You’re awfully trusting for a vigilante,” Jay noted dryly as she readjusted her shirt and blinked blearily at him.

“Are you saying you’re not trustworthy?”

“I’m saying that you don’t know anything about me,” Jay said, his voice suddenly hard, “You don’t know if I’m going to take off your mask and sell your identity to the highest bidder.”

Steph could comprehend that the cadence of his words was _anger_ , but she was far too tired to figure out why.

“Pretty sure you already know my identity,” Steph pointed out, because it wasn’t a big stretch when a vigilante and a civilian got their coffee the same, sweet way.

Jay deflated. “You need to be more careful,” he grumbled, stepping away.

Speaking of which – “Need to go home,” she said, one part of her already mourning the warmth. But her mom was due back for breakfast, and Steph didn’t want to make her more suspicious.

Jay gave her an incredulous look. “You’re not going to make it three blocks like that,” he said, making an irritated grumble as Steph basically proved his point for him by slipping off the table and nearly crumpling into a puddle on the floor.

“Good thing I don’t have to make it three blocks,” Steph said with forced cheer, wrangling her trembling legs into staying upright and taking a few unsteady steps towards the door.

“Come on, kid,” Jay sighed, running a weary hand through his hair, “I’ll escort you home.”

“You were just saying you aren’t trustworthy.”

“Oh, _now_ you choose to listen to me, you sweet-toothed monster? Come on – get on.”

“A piggyback ride? Really?”

“You’re going to faceplant three steps past my front door, and I’m not having you ruin all my hard work by getting knifed in an alley. Get on.”

“And what will people say if they see you carrying a vigilante through the darkened streets of Crime Alley?”

“You’re assuming that A, I care what other people think, and B, that I venture out on the streets in daylight.”

“…Oh my god, are you a _vampire_? I can’t believe I never put the pieces together. Who _else_ would have a coffee shop that operates only at night?”

“You know, for your own sake, I’m going to pretend that’s the blood loss talking.”

“Do you have fangs?”

“ _Spoiler_.”

“I’m seeing a suspicious lack of denial.”

“If I say yes, will you _shut up_?”

“Probably not.”

A quiet, barely audible mutter, clearly intended to be too low for her to hear – “Bet you drive the old man up the fucking wall.”

* * *

“Red Hood,” Steph said, swinging her legs and leaning back on the counter, “Is that like ‘Robin Hood’, or like ‘Red Riding Hood’?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t an answer, asshole.”

Jay turned another page of his book, not looking at her. “Yes,” he repeated.

“You have really shitty customer service, you know that?”

“You’re assuming I care.”

“I mean, this whole business model is sketchy,” Steph said, watching Regular Customer Number Two – most likely a dockworker, he always smelled like brine – stare into the depths of his mug. “First, you’re only open at night –”

“Yeah, because no one else is –”

“Second, this shop is shitty –”

“I didn’t decide to set up in Crime Alley for the _décor_ –”

“Third, you literally only have two things on the menu, and one of them is a collection of pastries that runs out by eleven o’clock.”

“One dozen is more than enough –”

“Fourth, the barista-slash-owner is an _asshole_ –”

Jay laughed, looking up from his book with a crooked smile. “I don’t see you complaining,” he chuckled.

“I _am_ complaining. This is literally me complaining. You’re the worst barista I’ve ever seen. You glare at every customer you get.”

“Ah, but they still come back, don’t they,” Jay pointed out, “Not much incentive for me to change.”

“You’re going to go bankrupt,” Steph informed him, stealing a collection of crumbs from the pasty tray – orange glazed scones.

“Says the girl whose over-sugared drinks are keeping me in business,” Jay drawled.

Steph huffed and jumped off the counter. “Just for that, I won’t be back,” she threatened.

“Mm-hmm,” Jay didn’t even have the courtesy to look up from his book.

* * *

She saw the flashing lights before she stopped on the rooftop for her nightly check-in with Jay, and she quickly and silently scrambled down the fire escape, halting only when she saw that Jay wasn’t alone.

It was a different detective, and a different set of groaning thugs, but Jay was leaning against the wall with the same detached disinterest.

“And you have no idea why they might’ve attacked you,” a weary detective asked.

“Nope,” Jay said, idly tapping his tire iron against the wall. The detective sighed as the officers handcuffed the thugs and led them away.

“You hear anything, you contact us, okay?” the detective said.

“Sure,” Jay replied, blatantly insincere. The detective sighed again, but grumbled and turned away.

Steph waited until the cops and their flashing lights had left before dropping to the ground.

“Spoiler,” Jay said, giving her an absent once-over.

“Protection racket guys again?” Steph asked, slinking closer to observe Jay. He wasn’t holding himself stiffly, and she couldn’t see the shine of fresh blood.

Sure, it _looked_ like Jay knew how to defend himself, but this was Gotham, and everything was a bit screwy here.

“Yup,” Jay said, sighing as he pushed off the wall, “Some people just don’t know how to take a hint.”

“You should just take someone’s offer,” Steph said quietly, “Guys like that? In a place like this? They won’t stop.”

“I don’t care,” Jay turned away, “I learned my lesson about relying on someone else’s protection the hard way.”

“Jay, I’m _serious_. The minor gangs may leave you alone, but sooner or later, you’re going to catch the eye of someone who won’t send four thugs with knives and crowbars, but a tub of gasoline and a lighter.”

“They can certainly try,” Jay shrugged, “Except the only time they can get to the shop without alerting me is in broad daylight.”

“Jay, you need to be _careful_.”

Jay’s shoulders tightened at that, drawing up like a knee-jerk reaction, and Steph stilled. He was still turned away from her, and she couldn’t see his expression, but she had the feeling that she’d just stepped into a minefield.

“I’ll be fine,” he said flatly.

“I just – you know Batman never comes here – if you get into trouble –”

“I don’t need _Batman_ to come save the day,” Jay snarled, his tone so vicious Steph actually took a step back. He turned towards her, glaring fiercely, but drew up short when he saw her face.

“I don’t need anyone to save me,” Jay said, slower and softer, “But if I did, then Crime Alley has its very own personal Spoiler, don’t they?”

“You’re an asshole,” Steph glowered, “And you’re going to get yourself shot. And until then, you’re going to keep giving me free pastries.”

“Is that the price of your protection?” Jay asked, his lips twitching.

“Yup. You better keep them coming.”

* * *

“Hey, Steph! Maybe we can go check out that coffee shop you keep raving about?”

“The last thing you need is more coffee, Boy Wonder, but sure. We can go tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, pretending like I still remember what happens in Animal Farm and pulling an essay topic out of thin air.
> 
> (Up next: some reunions don't go very well.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone seems worried that Tim will do something to mess it all up. Hmm, I wonder why. 😈
> 
> Me, after googling where the best coffee beans are grown: is this what it feels like when the planets align in your favor?

“Kind of strange that the shop only opens after dark,” Tim said, casting an askance glance at the shuttered windows and blackout paint.

“Yeah, the shop is pretty basic,” Steph said, pulling him through the front door, “But the _coffee_ Tim. And the barista’s also kind of an asshole, but –”

“Why do you insult me every time you see me?” Jay rolled his eyes, straightening from his chair and moving to the machine as he cast them a side glance, “And I see you brought a…friend.”

Jay trailed off, his eyes narrowing. Steph could practically _see_ his hackles rising. Steph turned to Tim, unsure of what was causing that reaction, only to watch a wide-eyed expression of shock slowly dissolve into a calculating look.

Oh no. She was _not_ a fan of that look. It was all well and good when he was Robin and that look was turned against villains, but the inquisitive-mad-scientist expression never boded well for her.

“Yeah,” Steph replied belatedly, flicking her gaze between Tim and Jay, “I brought a friend.”

Jay turned away first, fiddling with the machine, but his knuckles were nearly white where he was gripping the counter. “And how does your friend take his coffee?” Jay growled.

Steph darted a nervous glance at Tim, “Um –”

“Actually,” Tim said, in his blank-robot voice, the one he usually used on people he was trying to con, like high-society scumbags or school administrators, “I’d like an espresso.”

“We don’t serve espressos. We’ve got coffee, take it or leave it.”

Tim leaned against the counter and tilted his head to one side. “What kind of coffee shop only serves plain coffee?”

Jay turned towards him, glaring, and Steph swore his eyes _flashed_. “This is Crime Alley, kid,” Jay sneered, “We make do.”

“Plain coffee, then,” Tim said, not responding to the clear bite of rage in Jay’s tone, “Black.”

Jay put two takeaway cups on the counter without even asking. Steph wanted to shrink back a step. “$4.50,” Jay snapped.

Tim handed over a ten-dollar bill and picked up his coffee. He took a sip, and visible surprise stole over that narrowed, nosy expression. “This is really good,” he said, and Steph rolled her eyes – she’d _told_ him. “Where are the beans from?”

“Ethiopia.”

Tim choked on his next sip, spluttering, and Steph lunged to grab his coffee before he spilled it all over himself. “Are you okay?” she asked frantically, patting his back as he coughed.

“I’m fine,” Tim said hoarsely, waving her off, “Swallowed wrong.” Steph turned to Jay, and something in her heart chilled at the visible, vicious satisfaction on his face. His eyes were almost burning, the intense gaze fixed on Tim as he reclaimed his coffee cup and held his hand out for the change.

Tim tucked the change away and fiddled with his phone before holding his hand out again. “I’m Tim,” he said, which would’ve been a perfectly normal introduction if Steph couldn’t still see the calculating look in his eyes.

“I don’t care,” Jay said flatly.

“Jay,” Steph started warningly, because Jay was _always_ an asshole, but he’d never been straight-out _cruel_.

“Jay?” Tim leapt on that, leaning forward with a brief flare of victory in his eyes, “No last name?”

“Tim!” Steph snapped, dragging him away from the counter before Jay could match action to the dark clouds raging over his face. She dropped her voice to hiss into his ear, “Could you _please_ stop antagonizing the guy who owns the one decent coffee shop in Crime Alley?”

Tim took another sip of coffee, still staring at Jay, before the calculation in his eyes disappeared like it had never been there. “This is great coffee,” he said, smiling, “Thank you, Jay!”

Jay looked like he was going to strangle Tim with his bare hands and Steph hurried them both out of the shop before he could act on that impulse.

* * *

Spoiler’s patrol ended earlier than expected, because Robin had been distracted the whole night – every time she pushed, he mumbled something about needing more time to figure things out, but his head wasn’t in the game and she eventually called it, rather than let a preoccupied Robin wander into a gang fight and be stuck explaining the resultant wounds to a disapproving Batman.

She swung by the coffee shop, tiptoeing warily inside – she didn’t know what had set Jay off, but she hoped he wasn’t mad at her for bringing Tim. It was really nice to be able to talk to someone who knew the vigilante side of her, and wasn’t the ever-brooding Batman or her neurotic best friend.

It almost felt like the warmth whenever Dick Grayson decided to stop by Gotham – like a big brother. A lot snarkier than Dick, but he’d patched her up and kept giving her free pastries, so she supposed that could substitute for Dick’s octopus hugs.

Jay didn’t acknowledge her, not even when she got to the counter, and silently got up to make her usual order. Steph swallowed thickly and shivered at the chill in his guarded expression when he placed the takeaway cup on the counter. “$2.25,” he said coolly.

Steph forked over the money and tugged the cup towards her. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “For my friend. He can be a bit…much sometimes.”

Jay made a slight scoffing sound, and Steph pressed her luck. “He doesn’t really have a good grasp on what privacy or personal boundaries are, but we’re working on it,” she said.

Jay looked extremely unimpressed by that.

“I _know_ it’s annoying,” she sighed, and then dropped her voice so it was low enough that only Jay could hear, “He grabbed my mask the first time we met.”

Jay’s eyebrows rose, his eyes flaring a vivid green. “And what did you do?” he asked.

“Hit him with a brick.”

Another one of those startled half-wheeze-half-chuckles that she delighted in hearing. “You,” Jay said, smiling now, “Are definitely my favorite vigilante.”

Steph couldn’t help the curl of warmth inside of her at the words – no one had ever told her that before.

“Thanks, Jay,” Steph grinned, “And I’m sorry for my friend. Again. I just told him about the coffee and –”

“It’s fine,” Jay shrugged, “As long as he keeps his nose out of my business.”

“Of course,” Steph promised.

* * *

“Tim,” Steph forced out through gritted teeth, “What are you doing?”

“Looking into the _Red Hood_ ,” Tim replied calmly, not looking up from his laptop.

Steph threw her hands into the air and bemoaned her life. “ _Why_ , Tim?” she snarled, “I asked you for one small thing – stop antagonizing Jay! What the hell did he do to you, anyway?”

“I’m not antagonizing him,” Tim pointed out with the composure of someone who didn’t realize that he was about five seconds from being strangled. Steph balled her hands into fists in place of grabbing his shoulders and shaking some sense into him.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “Not every business owner in Crime Alley is a criminal, Tim,” she said, more-or-less levelly.

“It’s not that!” Tim had the audacity to look up at her with wounded eyes.

“Then what’s this about?”

“I can’t tell you,” Tim said slowly, “Because you’ll think I’m crazy.”

Oh. Marvelous. Like those weren’t ominous words or anything.

“Okay,” Steph crossed her arms, “And what did you find?”

“The shop is owned by a Jay Peters,” Tim said, his face twisting at the name. Steph hummed and leaned against his chair. “It was bought a month ago.”

“And?” Steph raised an eyebrow, “Uncovered any shady dealings by Jay Peters?”

“Jay Peters doesn’t exist.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Okay, first of all, you _saw_ him, and second, you just said he owns the place!”

“No, I meant, he has no paper trail. No documents. The signature on the shop’s legitimate, but there’s absolutely no record past that.”

“Okay,” Steph slowly drew the word out, “But it’s not like using a fake name is the strangest thing in Gotham.” She remembered the haunted look in Jay’s eyes when he mentioned not finishing school. “Especially if they’re running from someone.”

Tim jerked back violently and Steph scrambled away before he crashed into her. He looked sheet white, his fingers trembling, but there was nothing new on the screen.

“Tim?” Steph asked warily, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tim said, his eyes a million miles away. He swallowed, “I think I need to talk to Babs.”

* * *

“Not that you guys aren’t always welcome here,” Barbara said, slightly distracted by the security feed on her computer, “But if you’ve come for help, I’m a little busy.”

“We came here because Tim thinks that the barista of my _favorite coffee shop_ is a criminal,” Steph grumbled, still sour.

“I don’t think he’s a criminal!” Tim argued back heatedly. Steph was tempted to ask him if he’d slept – it was drawing close to evening again, and there were dark shadows around Tim’s eyes and a maniac light in them. “I just – I don’t know, I could be imagining things – and there are pictures, _I_ have pictures, but I didn’t really _see_ him before, so – I didn’t want to –”

“Tim,” Barbara raised a hand to cut off his babbling, “Why are you here?”

Tim swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “We want you to look at a picture.”

Steph opened her mouth to protest his use of the word _‘we’_ , but Barbara cut across her. “One picture?” she asked.

“Just one picture,” Tim confirmed.

Barbara looked back at her monitor and sighed before wheeling herself over. “Okay,” Barbara said, “And what do you want me to do with the picture?”

“Just – look at it,” Tim handed over his phone, and Steph caught a glimpse of a scowling Jay, taken at a bad angle, and resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands.

Barbara took the phone with a curious expression, which quickly and completely faded into blankness. She didn’t move. She didn’t twitch.

Tim had also gone eerily still, his gaze fixed on Barbara’s face like he was attempting to divine the secrets of the universe from her expression.

“Where did you get this?” Barbara asked finally, her voice emotionless.

“I took it. A coffee shop that Steph took me too. The Red Hood.”

Something spasmed across Barbara’s face, too fast to catch, but Tim sucked in a sharp inhale.

“People don’t come back from the dead,” Barbara said slowly, “That’s not possible.”

“ _What_?” Steph had lost the thread of this conversation somewhere between criminal baristas and resurrection. “What are you talking about?”

“He looks like him,” Tim said quietly, “He’s using the name Jay Peters.” Barbara looked up sharply. “I mean, really, is it stranger than anything else we’ve seen?”

Barbara looked conflicted. “I don’t know,” she said softly, “I need to see him.”

“The shop opens at sunset, so if we head out now –”

“Hold up a goddamn minute. Someone is going to explain what the _hell_ you two are talking about _before_ we go bothering the guy that keeps me supplied with coffee during both homework binges and patrol.”

Tim and Barbara exchanged a glance.

“Steph,” Tim started quietly, “How much do you know about Jason Todd?”

The name sounded vaguely familiar. “That was…the second Robin, right?” Steph said, trying to remember, “The…” _dead one_. “No,” Steph shook her head, turning pale, “No –”

“Yes,” Tim said grimly.

* * *

Steph convinced Tim to stay outside, because they were already ambushing Jay, and she wasn’t entirely convinced of Tim’s ability to escape unscathed, especially when there was a puzzle in front of him.

So it was just her and Barbara entering the shop. Jay got up to make her order as she reached the counter, flashing her a small smile. Barbara spoke up when she reached the counter, “I’d like a coffee. One cream, one sugar.”

Jay blinked, and stepped closer to the counter and – and stared at Barbara like he’d never seen someone in a wheelchair before. Barbara met his gaze calmly. Steph fought the urge to bury her face in her hands in secondhand embarrassment.

“One cream, one sugar,” Jay repeated hoarsely, and turned away.

“And one of those pastries,” Barbara added, “Chocolate buns, aren’t they?”

Jay didn’t answer, just wordlessly handed Barbara a bun on a plate before going back to fiddling with the coffeemaker. Steph watched Barbara take a bite and swallow, before a flash of satisfaction glimmered in her eyes.

“This is delicious,” Barbara said. Jay was still staring at the coffee machine. “Reminds me of the chocolate buns my friend makes.”

Jay filled two takeaway cups with coffee, stirring in the cream and sugar a touch more vigorously than he normally did.

“Maybe you’ve met him?” Barbara asked idly, “His name is Alfred.”

The flinch was small and barely noticeable, but to two people looking for it, it might as well have been screamed from the rooftops.

“I should bring him here sometime,” Barbara ventured, watching Jay’s reactions carefully.

Jay didn’t slam their cups down the counter, but it was a near thing. “$6.50,” he growled.

Barbara handed him twenty bucks. “Keep the change, Jason,” she said.

“My name is Jay,” he snapped.

Barbara shrugged in apology. “My bad,” she said, and wheeled out of the shop.

Steph only stayed long enough to catch sight of the fury and grief battling over Jay’s face, before she followed Barbara out.

* * *

Jay was not in a good mood. She knew that before she’d stopped by at the end of her patrol, and she knew that Jay probably didn’t want to see her at all, but she had to study for a test and she needed the caffeine and at three in the morning, this was the only place open.

Nothing had quite hammered it home like his cold, green-eyed glare when she slunk inside.

They completed their entire transaction in silence – Steph handed him the money, he handed her the coffee. Nothing more, nothing less.

He sat back down in his chair and opened his book, pointedly ignoring her. Steph winced and turned to slink back to the door and leave.

The door swung open, and Robin walked inside.

Steph could feel the pit of her stomach drop, in tune to the loud screech as Jay’s chair dragged against the floor.

All three of the regulars looked up – College Student, Dockworker, and the third one, that Steph had mentally labelled Runaway because he looked younger than her and Jay let him stay the whole night without ordering more than one coffee – watching curiously as Robin made his way to the counter.

“Get out,” Jay said levelly, and Steph turned to see him looming above the countertop, arms crossed and furious.

“I just wanted a coffee –”

“I have a ‘no vigilantes allowed’ policy,” Jay snarled, “Get out.”

Robin actually looked offended. “She’s here,” he pointed out challengingly, and Steph glared at him.

“She was leaving,” Jay snapped, and his tone made it clear that there was no room for argument.

“I just want –”

“Get. _Out_.” Jay’s eyes were flashing again, almost glowing a vivid green. “ _Replacement_ ,” he snarled, and Robin jerked back a step like he’d been stabbed.

Steph watched them both with wide eyes, her fingers tightening on her coffee cup. She didn’t have the context to interfere. She was pretty sure that someone was going to get hurt if she _didn’t_ interfere.

“The kid you’re looking for?” Jay said softly, his voice low enough that only the both of them could hear, “He died a long time ago. Let him stay dead. Because you might not like the consequences if he shows up and sees that you _took_ _his fucking place_.”

Robin didn’t even look like he was breathing, his face pale and his fingers trembling.

“I’m going to say this one more time, Replacement,” Jason hissed, “ _Get out_.”

Steph grabbed Robin’s arm and tugged him towards the door. “We’re leaving,” she said, trying to keep her tone level as she pulled Robin away from Jay. She knew he had a tire iron behind his counter, and she knew that he knew how to use it.

She didn’t exhale until they were out of the shop. Robin only spoke up when she’d dragged him a block away. “He hates me,” he said numbly.

Steph took a deep breath, and stayed silent. _Right now,_ I _hate you too_ , she didn’t say. She’d had a friend. For a couple of weeks, she’d had a friend, and Tim and Barbara had taken that away from her.

* * *

She could see the flashing lights when she went out to take out the trash, and she snuck close enough to see what was going on.

Jason was standing next to his shop, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as the cops loaded a couple of thugs into the car. She was too far away to hear what they were saying, but she got the gist.

She left before he could spot her.

* * *

“So, it’s him?”

“We’ll need DNA evidence to be sure –”

“And his coffin. I mean, his body. If it’s still in the coffin…”

“But is it _him_?”

Tim and Barbara looked at each other, and both of them nodded.

“Yes, it’s Jason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Babs scene was vivid in my mind from the beginning.
> 
> (Up next: Jason still can't resist his big brother instincts.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain: you know that there are other ways to mend relationships, right?
> 
> Me, adding more whump: what's that?

Steph swallowed, and pushed the door open. It swung inwards without a creak, and Steph made her hesitant way inside. None of the regulars looked up. Jason didn’t either.

Not when she walked in. Not when she walked up to the counter. Not when she lightly tapped on it.

Jason turned a page of his book and continued ignoring her.

“Jason,” she started, and the temperature of the room dropped ten degrees. “Jay,” she corrected hastily.

Jason didn’t look up.

Steph swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, and turned away, her eyes burning.

* * *

“We’re going to tell someone, right?” Tim glanced at both of them, spinning in his seat, “Like, Bruce. Or Dick.”

“You said Alfred,” Steph murmured to Barbara, who was staring at her computer but not doing any work. If there was anyone that Jason would welcome seeing, it was surely the old butler.

Barbara sighed. “Jason’s temper is…uncertain. I’m not sure I want to subject Alfred to that.”

_Translation: we all narrowly escaped boiling hot coffee to the face._

“So Bruce?” Tim asked, frowning, “Actually, no. Dick might be the better choice.”

Barbara made a face at that, “Dick and Jason were never that close. I’m not sure that sending him is a good option.”

“But we have to tell them at _some_ point,” Tim said, “We can’t just keep this a secret forever.”

“Jay said he wanted us to leave him alone,” Steph pointed out.

Barbara and Tim exchanged a glance, and Steph felt a thrill of foreboding down her spine. “He wanted us to _leave him alone_ ,” Steph repeated, glaring, “He clearly doesn’t want to see us. And he’s not the biggest fan of Batman either.”

“We have no idea what happened to him, Steph,” Barbara said gently, “He was dead. That wasn’t a trick. And now he’s come back to…what? Run a coffee shop? We need answers.”

“And Bruce deserves to know,” Tim said quietly, “He – Jason’s his _son_. He deserves to know.”

Steph had opinions on what Bruce did and did not deserve to know, but – but Tim was right. Steph couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a child, and if that child was somehow alive and well…

“We need to confirm it, first,” Barbara said firmly, “We’ve checked off memories, but we need DNA evidence. If we tell Bruce, and it turns out that this is a shapeshifter, or a clone, or some kind of trick…”

All of them shuddered.

“How the hell are we going to get DNA evidence?” Tim murmured. Steph ignored him. Meddling was what had gotten them into this situation in the first place.

* * *

Steph gasped, staggering as Robin’s knees buckled, forcing her to take more of his weight. She readjusted his arm over her shoulders and pushed them forward, taking a turn at an intersection of alleyways.

She couldn’t hear anyone pursuing them, but she hadn’t been able to hear them when they’d attacked at the edge of the Bowery. Their assailants were ghosts, striking without warning, and Steph didn’t know who they were or what they wanted.

All she knew was that they were outnumbered and outmatched.

Robin had taken a knife to the gut. Batman wasn’t in Gotham. Nightwing was in Bludhaven. The attackers were between them and Dr. Thompkins’ clinic.

Steph knew how to stitch wounds closed, she had a suture kit in her room, and her mom wasn’t home – but Robin had dropped too quickly for the problem to be only blood loss.

She needed a doctor – Batman – a vigilante –

She needed someone who knew what they were doing.

“Spoiler,” Robin slurred, “Can’t – it burns –”

“I know,” Steph said, pulling him forward down another alleyway, and another turn, “I know, Robin, I’m going to find help.”

“B is –”

“I _know_ ,” Steph said sharply. They were running out of options.

Another alleyway, this one leading back to the main road, and Robin’s head was knocking against hers with every step. She paused halfway down the alley, and started banging on the side door.

“Jason!” she called out, knocking as hard she could with a partial deadweight leaning against her, “Jay!”

Nothing. No sound of footsteps. She darted a look around them, and up at the rooftops, and kept knocking.

“Jay, please,” Steph said, pressing her forehead against the door, “I’m sorry – I’m sorry for bothering you, for everything, but please, Jay, I need your help.”

Still nothing. Robin’s gasps were coming slower and shallower.

“Jay, _please_ ,” Steph shouted, her eyes hot and prickling – and then nearly faceplanted when the door suddenly swung out from under her.

She managed to keep her balance with some ungainly flailing, grabbing Robin with both arms so that he didn’t crumple to the ground. Jason stared at her, mouth pressed in a thin line, and his eyes narrowed when he saw who was with her.

“Please,” Steph said, her voice cracking, because Jason had made it extremely clear that he _hated_ Tim, but – “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Jason’s gaze sharpened, but he took a wordless step back and Steph nearly cried in relief. She stumbled inside, her legs trembling, and Jason closed the door behind them before opening the door to his garage.

Steph managed the two steps down as Jason shouldered more of Robin’s weight, finally taking him from Steph to lay him down on the table. “Medkit’s in the cupboard,” Jason said distractedly, assessing Robin with a clinical gaze, “What happened?”

Steph almost wrenched the door off the cupboard in her rush. “We got attacked. I don’t know by who – not a Gotham gang. Robin got hit with a knife in the gut. I – I think it’s poisoned.”

Jason cursed under his breath, focused on cutting Robin’s suit away from his wound as Steph hurried back with the medkit.

“Do you know what he was poisoned with?” Jason asked – the wound was bleeding sluggishly, and Robin was leaning on one elbow as he watched Jason, his face drawn and pale.

“No, we lost the knife,” Steph said quietly, because it was another mistake in a long line of her mistakes – Robin hadn’t said a word about it, but she knew he’d gotten hit because he was covering her blind spot, because she was too slow, because she was untrained – everything that Batman always threw in her face, and if he came back to Gotham to see that she’d gotten his partner _killed_ because of her incompetence – well, she didn’t even want to imagine his reaction.

“And your attackers?” Jason asked, examining the wound closely, “Any distinguishing features?”

“No,” Steph shook her head, “They were wearing all black. Silent. I don’t know what they wanted.”

“The dagger,” Robin said hoarsely, sliding back, “It was…” he mimed a hand motion for _wavy_.

Jason stilled. He abruptly pushed away from the table, moving to the far side of the garage, and Steph grabbed Robin’s hand as he slumped all the way on the table, his breathing labored.

“Did it look like this?” Jason raised a blade with an undulating edge. Robin nodded, the small action turning his face even paler as he swallowed thickly.

“Spoiler, get on the table,” Jason motioned as he disappeared through the door, back inside. Steph clambered up, near Robin’s head, as she heard pounding steps get further away.

“Spoiler,” Robin said softly and Steph shushed him.

“Conserve your strength,” she said, patting his shoulder.

“You didn’t –” Robin broke off into low coughs, and before he could clear his throat, Jason was back.

“Do you know which poison it is?” Steph asked as Jason set down a kit full of small vials.

“I have a fairly good guess,” Jason said darkly, removing a vial filled with a bright blue liquid.

“Do you have an antidote?”

“Yes,” Jason said, clipped, climbing on top of the table. “Hold him down,” Jason instructed as he straddled Robin, his knees pressing against Robin’s hips. He held out a strip of leather that Robin hesitantly opened his mouth to bite down on.

“What? Why?”

Jason flicked on a lighter and held it to the bottom of the vial. “Because this is going to hurt,” he said flatly.

Robin made a sharp, choked sound, grasping for Steph’s hand. She swallowed and shifted forward, settling her knees on either side of Robin’s head as she grabbed his forearms and pressed them against the table.

The liquid in the vial began bubbling. Robin swallowed, the movement sharp against the collar of his costume. Jason snapped the lighter closed.

Jason bent down over the wound. Steph could hear the moment the antidote made contact with the gash, because it began _sizzling_ and Robin started a low, strangled whine, his arms flexing against her grip as he thrashed.

Jason kept him pressed to the table with a large hand on his sternum, until all the bubbling blue liquid disappeared into the gash. Robin writhed against the table, pained whines slipping past the leather strip, and Steph was forced to tighten her grip to keep him from rolling off.

When it was done, Jason put the vial aside and finished binding the wound, pressing a wad of gauze and taping it down. Robin’s struggles grew quieter, and Steph dared to remove her grasp, relaxing her knees and stroking a hand through Robin’s hair to ease the pain. Jason levered off of him entirely, cleaning up the medkit, and Robin twisted, letting the leather strip fall out of his mouth as he pressed his trembling face to her knee.

“Robin?” Steph asked quietly, rubbing one of his shoulders as he shuddered. Robin didn’t say anything, just curled further as he let out shallow, hitched breaths.

“Hurt anywhere else?” Jason asked, glancing between her and Robin. He didn’t look angry or annoyed, but there was something guarded in his expression that hadn’t been there back when she knew him only as Jay.

Steph shook her head mutely. She was trembling all over, her muscles quivering and exhaustion slamming into her from the adrenaline crash. But Robin’s breathing had evened out, and while he was still pale, he was losing the sweaty, grayish tinge.

“Alright,” Jason said levelly, “You can stay here for the night.” He pulled Robin off the table – and Tim looked so _small_ in his arms, legs dangling limply and head cradled against Jason’s shoulder – and headed for the door.

It took Steph a full ten seconds to get off the table, to force her shivering legs upright and hobble up the two steps and through the door. The smell of coffee cut through the jittering fog and straight into exhaustion as Steph stumbled down the corridor. There were stairs leading up, and she could see Jason’s boots disappear from view, but when she took a step forward, her knees gave out and she crumpled into a heap.

Robin was going to be okay. He wasn’t going to die. His death wasn’t going to be her fault.

Steph pressed back against the wall and drew her knees up, distantly noticing that she was beginning to shake.

“Spoiler?” Jason called out. And then again, his voice closer, “Spoiler?” She could hear his boots coming down the stairs. “Spoiler?” Jay asked again, his voice soft, “Are you hurt?”

Steph shook her head _no_ , still trembling.

Jason took the last few steps and crouched down in front of her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and he sounded like Jay again.

“It’s my fault,” Steph whispered, her voice cracking, “It – I convinced Robin to go out on patrol – I didn’t see the attackers – I – I didn’t – Robin had to protect me and – and he almost _died_ –”

“Listen to me,” Jason’s voice cut through her rambling, firm and steady, “ _Listen_ , Spoiler. Robin could’ve died. But he didn’t. And that – _that’s_ on you.”

Steph raised her head, meeting Jay’s gaze through her blurry vision.

“You found him help,” Jay said, holding her gaze, “You saved him. And that’s all that matters.”

“But I – Batman’s _right_ , I’m not trained and I’m just getting him into trouble –”

“Steph,” Jay said firmly, his eyes flashing, “Fuck Batman.”

Steph was startled into silence.

“No matter what he likes to pretend, he doesn’t own this city. You’ve done so much good, Spoiler, especially _here_.” Jason’s expression twisted to something wry, “And Robins have been getting into trouble long before you showed up.”

Steph managed a watery chuckle.

“Come on,” Jay held out a hand, and she took it, leaning against him as one of her legs started cramping. He helped her up the stairs and she sank into the couch next to Tim, who’d been bundled on the couch under a quilt.

His mask was off, eyes closed as strands of hair drifted across his sleeping face, and Jason handed her a spray bottle of the solvent to remove her own mask before he drifted into the kitchen. It was a small apartment, a couple of closed doors – bedroom and bathroom, she presumed – a kitchen, a small living room, couple of windows overlooking the street.

Jason returned after Steph finished peeling her mask off and shedding her cape and belt. He handed her a steaming cup – “Tea,” Jason said, “Chamomile.” – before disappearing from view and returning with another quilt that he carefully tucked around her shoulders.

Steph could feel her eyes prickle again.

Jay rescued the cup before she could spill it all over herself, and placed careful hands on her shoulders. “Hey, Steph, it’s okay,” he said softly, rubbing her shoulders as she cried, “You’re safe here, it’s okay, Robin’s going to be just fine.”

Steph curled up further and tipped forward – Jason’s hands stilled on her shoulders as she buried her face in his shirt, shuddering.

“It’s okay,” Jay repeated after a long pause, arms hesitantly tightening around her. “Everything is going to be okay.”

When he was saying it, she could almost believe it.

* * *

Tim woke her up with an elbow to the face and Steph ducked on instinct, blinking blearily and registering…carpet? Her apartment didn’t have carpet.

“Steph?” Tim said hoarsely, and Steph turned to see him weakly fighting his way free of the blanket. She extricated herself from her own, and rubbed the bruise on her face as she pushed herself off the floor.

“Hey,” she replied – her mouth tasted like something had died on her tongue. “How are you feeling?”

Tim straightened fully, and immediately hunched over with a wince. “Hurts,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into skin above the wound.

A small pill bottle flew through the air and landed in Tim’s lap. He blinked at it. “Painkillers,” Jason said, and handed Tim a glass of water and Steph a cup of tea.

Steph took it gratefully, inhaling citrusy fumes with a soft sigh. Tim took his glass of water more warily, like he was expecting Jay to dump it on his head.

“How are you feeling?” Jason asked once Tim had swallowed a couple of pills, and Tim nearly spluttered on his next sip of water when he realized that Jay was talking to _him_.

“Sore,” he said quietly, emotions battling across his face – Steph recognized suspicion and painful hope – too tired to hide them. “But other than that, I’m fine.”

Jay gave him the same dry look of judgement that Steph had gotten when she’d insisting on walking home alone.

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearly disbelieving, but he turned to Steph without further contesting the claim, “It’s almost seven – if you’re planning on heading home before your mom gets there…”

“Shit!” Steph leapt up, trying to locate her stuff, “Thanks, Jay.”

“And what about you?” Jason turned to Tim, “How long before your parents notice?”

Tim flushed. “I’m good,” he said quietly, “They’re not in town.” Steph aimed her glower at the wall, somewhere where Tim couldn’t see. His parents were _never_ in town. Even Arthur Brown had been more present than Jack and Janet Drake – though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“Alright,” Jason sighed, “I’ve closed up the shop, so I can give you a ride home if you think you can stay upright on a motorcycle.”

Steph could practically see the stars in Tim’s eyes.

She found her mask, belt, and cape and made another check around the room before heading for the door. “Thank you,” she said quietly to Jason, holding his gaze.

Jason exhaled slowly. “Anytime,” he said after a pause, patting her shoulder. “This – this doesn’t change –”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Tim said softly from the couch, blue eyes steady, “I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you.”

Jason stared at him, and then glanced at Steph, before the tension slightly eased. “Alright,” Jason gave a half-shrug, and Steph hadn’t realized how much it had been eating him until she saw his posture loosen.

“Thank you,” Steph repeated emphatically, and gave a wave to Tim before bolting home.

She made it back five minutes before her mother.

* * *

Steph groaned when she saw Tim’s face. This idiot had been her best friend for a year and a half, she could recognize _guilt_ when it was etched over his entire face.

“What did you do?” she demanded.

“Babs said,” Tim said, his voice small as they walked to the _Red Hood_ , each of them holding a backpack full of homework, “We need DNA evidence.”

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Steph hissed, “ _What did you do_?”

“His motorcycle helmet,” Tim eyed the pavement with fascination, “I found some hairs in it.”

Steph took a controlled breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“Handed it over to Babs,” Tim gave a half-shrug, “Now we just need to wait and see.”

“He barely forgave us the _first fucking time_ ,” Steph snarled, careful to keep her voice low as they got closer to the coffee shop.

“I’m not saying _tell Bruce_ ,” Tim raised his head, his eyes sharp, “But Steph, he knows your identity. He knows my identity. We just need to make sure it’s really him.”

“If this backfires in any way,” Steph threatened, reaching out for the door, “I’m blaming you.”

Tim only sighed as he followed her inside.

Jason gave a loud and mostly feigned groan as they reached the counter, kicking off lazily from his chair and slouching to the coffeemaker. “You actually take your coffee black, Timbo, or was that you making a point?” he asked.

“He’s a caffeine addict,” Steph groaned, “He absolutely takes his coffee black.”

Tim blinked, “It’s good coffee. I don’t see any need to dilute it with sugar or cream.”

Jason rolled his eyes and got their coffees, snagging a plate and plopping two pastries on them – chocolate eclairs, this time – before ringing them up. “$4.50,” he said.

Tim paid as they took their food to a table. Steph bit into an éclair with a moan of satisfaction before tugging out her homework. She had biology, which she could finish easily – Tim had chemistry, which was a problem, not because he wasn’t good at chemistry, but because he was _too_ good. He got sidetracked far too easily.

Case in point – when Jason came to refill their coffee mugs, Tim was scribbling furiously across five sheets of paper, chemical reactions meandering between pages.

“What’s this?” Jason asked, bemused, leaning over Tim.

Steph just sighed and focused on her biology homework. She’d learned better than to get sucked into one of Tim’s brainstorming sessions.

“I was thinking about the latest line of Crane’s fear toxin – it has an active ingredient that has to be shipped from the West Coast, so it delayed his plans, but he’s probably going to substitute it, and then I started calculating the possibilities and _then_ –”

“You found how to reverse one of them,” Jason murmured, his gaze flitting over the pages.

“And it’s – here, see –”

“Oh. This can change the base of the general antidote –”

“And make it more effective!” Tim said, eyes shining as he grabbed another paper, “I just need the last few steps.”

Jason absently grabbed a chair, still looking over the reactions, before he pointed at one of them, “If you use a different aldehyde here –”

“That’s brilliant!” Tim exclaimed, snatching the paper and rewriting the equations as Jason peered over his shoulder. Steph snorted, and was instantly pinned by two gazes.

“Why are you smiling?” Tim asked, suspicious.

Steph reached under the mass of papers and drew out one, crumpled sheet. “Forgetting something?” she asked sweetly, waving the chemistry worksheet in Tim’s face.

“But _Steph_ –”

“He can’t be trusted to do his homework by himself,” Steph said to Jason, who took the worksheet with a smirk.

“Okay, finish the worksheet,” Jason said, putting it down on top of the equations, “And _then_ get back to revolutionizing antitoxins.”

Tim honest-to-god _pouted_.

“Come on, kid,” Jason got up, ruffling Tim’s hair on his way, “I’ll be back in a half-hour.”

Tim drooped, and Steph laughed as she turned back to her own homework.

* * *

“Why are we here?” Steph asked warily, taking the seat next to Tim as Barbara swung away from the computer.

“I got the results of the analysis back,” Barbara said, “It’s Jason. Confirmed.”

Tim looked relieved. Steph, however, was still watching Barbara. “And?” she asked, “You could’ve said that in a text. Why are we here?”

Barbara looked at her. Steph narrowed her eyes.

“We have proof that it’s really Jason,” Barbara said slowly, “I think it’s time we consider telling Bruce.”

“No,” Steph said immediately.

“Steph –”

“He doesn’t _want_ to,” Steph argued, “You understand that, right? If he wants to talk to Bruce, all he has to do is _ask_ –”

“Bruce is going to find out eventually,” Barbara pointed out, “You know he will. It’s only a matter of –”

“Jason made it clear that that’s not who he is anymore,” Tim said quietly, “He – Babs, he’s nineteen. If he doesn’t want see Bruce, we can’t make him.”

She turned to look at him, expression sharp. “Do you really think that’s best?” she asked softly, “Because Jason isn’t hiding, Tim. Sooner or later, Bruce is _going_ to find out.”

“Because the boss man regularly makes a habit of visiting coffee shops in Crime Alley in the middle of the night?” Steph raised an eyebrow.

“Because _Robin_ and _Spoiler_ keep stopping by a coffee shop in Crime Alley,” Barbara gave them both a raised eyebrow, “If you want to hide this from Bruce, you’re going to have to be more discreet.”

“We can be discreet,” Tim muttered rebelliously.

“We’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it,” Steph said finally.

* * *

Robin raised a hand to halt her and Spoiler stumbled to a stop, joining him on the rooftop ledge and peering down at the sounds of a fight. Black-and-white hair caught the gleam of a streetlight as a long, thin piece of metal slammed into someone’s gut, and Robin leapt for the fire escape to swing down.

Steph scaled down after him, but by the time their boots hit the ground, there were six groaning bodies on the ground and Jason was sweeping a hand through his fringe, breathing hard.

“Jay?” Steph asked, nudging one of the bodies.

“I’m good,” Jason replied, absently twirling the tire iron, “Just another set of guys that didn’t take a hint.” He punctuated his statement by stepping on someone’s fingers and drawing out a low gasp.

“These are Black Mask’s men,” Robin observed, poking one of them with his staff.

“Do I look like I care?” Jason raised an eyebrow, “Scram. The cops will be here soon.”

Robin stepped back, and Steph followed him into the shadows.

“Black Mask’s not going to take no for an answer,” Robin said quietly, when Steph had rejoined him on the roof.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Steph said, watching the alley as the red-and-blue flashing lights coming closer.

“I’m just worried,” Robin said, stepping back, “That things will escalate.”

* * *

“Switch on the signal. The Joker’s escaped from Arkham.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you don't need an 'up next'. 😈


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All _sorts_ of reunions, my oh my.
> 
> I'd say that no clowns were harmed in the making of this chapter, but that would be a lie.

“More homework?” Jay laughed when she came through the door. Steph scowled as she marched up to the counter. Jason got her coffee ready for her, and, at her puppy-dog eyes, sighed and got the last blueberry muffin off the tray.

“You any good at calculus?” Steph asked, setting her bag on the table closest to the counter. College Student raised their textbook in solidarity, Dockworker gave her a nod, and Runaway lifted his head from the table before dropping it again.

Jason threw his head back and laughed. “Me?” he said incredulously, “ _Math_? No way. You should talk to Babs for that.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Steph grumbled, sinking down in her chair and pulling out her homework. Jason merely smirked at her.

Her phone chimed and Steph jumped at the distraction.

Message from Barbara. _‘Get eyes on Jason NOW.’_

Oh no. Bruce or Dick. Someone had found out.

Steph didn’t hide her wince as she typed back – _‘I’m at the shop. What happened?’_

_Typing…_

_Typing…_

_‘Joker’s out.’_

Shit.

_Shit_.

Steph darted a frantic glance at the counter, but Jay was still reading his book, apparently unconcerned.

There was no TV or radio in the _Red Hood_. None of the other three regulars seemed to have gotten the news yet. Maybe if she could distract Jason, or convince him to close up shop – but that would be impossible without telling him the truth – and they needed her as Spoiler, she had to be out there.

Before she could get out of her chair, the door swung open.

And the first thing that came through was the laughter.

Her blood ran cold. The phone was still open to Barbara’s message. _‘SOS’_ she sent, and flipped it over.

“Well, isn’t _this_ a quaint little shop,” the Joker laughed as he strolled inside, followed by four goons wearing black masks.

Runaway jolted upright and pressed back against the wall, Dockworker’s eyes narrowed as his fist tightened around his mug, and College Student tugged their textbook closer to them. The Joker swept his gaze over all of them – Steph shivered when it landed on her, curious and homicidal in equal measure – before settling beyond the counter.

Jason was standing, his face eerily blank.

“The _Red Hood_ ,” the Joker spun in a circle, arms raised to take in the shop, “A little plain for my tastes – but hey, I hear the coffee’s _divine_.”

The laughter echoed oddly in the small shop, and the sound grated unpleasantly down Steph’s spine.

Steph had never seen that smile from this close – red paint stretching across bleached skin, and eyes too sharp to fit an image of harmless lunacy. The green-dyed hair was freshly slicked back, spiking at the back.

The goons spread out – one at the door, two on the left, and one hovering near Steph – as the Joker advanced towards Jason with a _tap-tap-tap_ of his polished shoes.

“Hey, lamb chop, did anyone ever tell you that _I_ used to be called the Red Hood?”

Jason didn’t answer. Jason didn’t _move_.

Steph curled her hands into fists, feeling the acute burn of helplessness – she didn’t have her costume or her gear. She didn’t have her comms. She didn’t know how long it would take Batman and Robin to get here.

She didn’t know how long Jason’s composure was going to last.

“I’m still a little _attached_ to the name – it was one of my favorites, see? And when dear old Maskie told me that someone else was using it – well, I just _had_ to come and see!”

The Joker walked all the way up to the counter, his maniacal smile fixed firmly in place. Jason didn’t step back as the Joker got closer, but it was extremely obvious that he wanted to.

“Why don’t you make me a cup of coffee, sunshine?” the Joker asked, leaning against the counter.

Jason turned woodenly to the coffee machine.

Steph couldn’t see the Joker’s face from her position, but she could see the shift in his posture. “Hey,” the Joker said, his tone dropping a note, “Have we met before? You seem _awfully_ familiar.”

Jason’s hands were shaking, but he turned to meet the Joker’s gaze. “I think I’d remember,” he said flatly.

The Joker laughed. Steph’s fingernails were biting into her palms.

“Oh, you’ve got spunk, kid,” the Joker said, straightening as Jason finished filling a cup. “You almost remind me of some birds. Chattering little creatures, could never stand them.”

Jason placed the cup on the counter, and looked straight at the Joker. “$2.25,” he said, his voice level.

The Joker erupted into guffaws. He turned back to his thugs, laughing hysterically, and she could see them shift uneasily.

They weren’t the Joker’s henchmen, they were Black Mask’s. Steph could use that. If only she could come up with a _plan_ –

Jason’s gaze drifted off of the Joker, and to her. Just for a moment. But he held her gaze – a warning – before snapping it back as the Joker turned back to him, still wheezing.

“Oh, sunshine, you’re _killing_ me –”

Jason threw the coffee at his face.

Laughter cut off to an enraged half-shriek – the henchmen next to her started forward, and Steph grabbed the chair next to her and _swung_.

The goon dropped in tandem to Jason leaping across the counter, tire iron in hand, and Steph turned to the thug near the door, hefting her bag up to use as a sling.

Shrieks turned into frustrated snarls – a furious groan echoed from the other side of the room, a kid’s half-panicked shout, metal screeching against tile. The thug at the door seemed to have forgotten that he had a gun, and hightailed it in the face of Steph’s advance.

A sickening _crunch_. Like a spoiled watermelon cracking open.

All the noise immediately cut out, as though someone had pressed mute.

Runaway was clutching a small can of pepper spray, eyes wide. Dockworker had a shattered mug in their hands – the shards were littering a thug’s bloody hair. College Student was holding their textbook like it was a bludgeoning tool, and judging by the groaning body at their feet, it had definitely been used as one.

Jason was standing in the center of the shop, breathing hard and still trembling, tire iron clutched tightly in his hand. On the ground was –

On the ground –

The Joker was staring up at the ceiling. Coffee stained bleached skin, swollen in patches. There was something leaking out of his head. Steph was pretty sure that it wasn’t just blood.

Jason crouched down – his voice was quiet, it was low, it was barely even a whisper, but the shop was dead silent and they heard every word loud and clear.

“You want to hear a joke?” Jay asked, voice wavering, “A clown and a bird walk into a coffee shop. Only one walks out. Because here’s the fucking punchline – _I came back_.”

Steph scanned the rest of the shop – all the thugs were down, and she kicked the gun out of the hands of the one at her feet. The other three got the idea, and three guns went skidding into the corner as the regulars huddled into a knot.

Jason was still crouching near the Joker’s head and Steph made her way towards him. Slowly. He was still trembling all over.

“Jay?” she said quietly. She didn’t try to put her hand on his shoulder.

Jason exhaled and straightened, still staring at the body. The Joker was staring straight up, eyes blank, mouth relaxed out of that unnatural grin. Steph stepped past the puddle of blood, until she was in front of him.

“Jay,” she said again, carefully raising her hand and placing it on his upper arm. When he didn’t move, she exerted the slightest bit of pressure, and he took a halting step back. Away from the Joker.

They heard the sirens first. The red-and-blue flashing lights followed, flickering through the blackout paint over the front door.

The tire iron hit the floor with a clatter.

* * *

Steph remembered her phone when she was outside, sitting in the back of an ambulance with a shock blanket draped around her shoulders. She certainly felt like she was in shock. Still numb, in the midst of flashing lights and shouts and people going in and out of the _Red Hood_.

One ambulance had already departed. Its cargo was headed straight for the morgue.

Barbara had left several messages, demanding to know what was wrong, what happened, what was going on – increasing in panic until her last – _‘B’s in Amusement Mile. I’m sending the police.’_

_‘It’s over’_ Steph responded, and ignored the dot-dot-dot of Barbara typing. _‘Stall B.’_

Next to her, Jason was staring blankly into the street, huddled under a shock blanket of his own. The police hadn’t asked many questions. Steph had pretended she hadn’t seen the cop wiping down the tire iron. No one had used the word _‘murder’_.

The forensics guy had taken one look at the scene, verified that the corpse was, in fact, a corpse and not a ticking time bomb, declared _‘head trauma consistent with a fall’_ and left.

Steph had seen the tire-iron-shaped dent in the corpse’s head.

“Jay,” Steph said softly, when his shivering rose too high for her to safely ignore. He didn’t twitch. Steph exhaled. “ _Jason_ ,” she said.

Jason turned towards her. She scooted closer, and wrapped a hand around his shoulders – it was a little awkward, because he was a foot taller than her, but his head dropped on top of hers as suddenly as though his strings were cut.

He made a small, choked sound that could’ve been a sob.

“It’s okay,” Steph said, low and fierce, because it _was_. “He’s dead.”

She could barely remember a time when the sight of a clown wasn’t a cause for terror. He was Gotham’s bogeyman, and everyone knew it.

But in the end, he was still only human.

“It’s okay,” she said, as Jason shuddered harder, “It’s okay, Jason, everything is going to be okay.”

There was water seeping through her hair, and Steph shifted to hug him properly. His arms came around her and tightened, almost painfully so, and she let out a breathless squeak.

“It’s okay,” Steph murmured, feeling his heartbeat flutter against her cheek, “You’re safe.”

He was still shaking. One of the paramedics was eyeing them, and Steph didn’t think that the bright lights and repeated questions at the hospital would make Jason feel better.

“Come on,” Steph muttered, and slowly extricated herself from the hug before hopping down. Jason blinked at her, but followed.

Steph tugged Jason through the crowd – ignoring anyone who might’ve told them to stop – to the side door, slipping into the corridor – the cops had already checked and cleared the back – and heading for the stairs.

Jason made no move to tug his hand out of her grip, following silently behind her. She nudged him down on the couch, wrapping the quilt around his shoulders, before heading to the kitchen and putting the kettle on.

She had to open three cupboards before she found the tea, encased in carefully labelled glass jars. She grabbed the chamomile, which had definitely helped her calm down last time, and studied the precise instructions marked on the back of the jar.

There was a whole collection of loose leaf teas, far more options than he had with coffee, and Steph scanned over all of them, her forehead furrowing. She didn’t understand why a man that liked tea so much would open a _coffee shop_ –

The _Red Hood._ No décor, plain coffee, nothing valuable in sight. The protection racket, escalating till it reached the Black Mask.

Steph stumbled back into the living room. Jason was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees, head down. “Did you _plan_ all of this?” Steph asked, quiet and sharp.

A stretching beat of silence.

“Pissing off Black Mask,” Steph ticked off, “Your lack of interest in anything to do with the actual business. That _name_ – you were practically taunting the Joker!”

“If you can’t get to the clown,” Jason murmured, not looking up, “You get the clown to come to you.”

Steph sucked in a sharp breath. The kettle started whistling.

She returned to the kitchen and made the tea on autopilot, barely registering what she was doing as she walked back to the living room with a mug in her hand.

She could still hear that sound – the sloshing _crack_ of a skull splitting open.

Jason was –

Jason was still trembling.

She pressed the mug into shaking fingers, and pressed close to his side. “You murdered him,” she said quietly.

“He murdered me,” Jason replied, equally soft, and Steph didn’t resist the urge to pull him into another hug.

After all, beneath the shock and horror and anger, that was _joy_. The Joker was dead.

The Joker was _dead_.

_The Joker was dead._

Her phone vibrated and Steph checked it absently, before freezing.

Barbara again. _‘Sorry.’_

_‘Can’t stall him any longer.’_

_‘He’s heading your way.’_

And, as Steph watched, another message popped up.

_‘Is he really dead?’_

_‘Yes’_ Steph swiped, before getting up. “Jason, B’s coming,” Steph said, low and urgent, and Jason stiffened, “If you –”

She didn’t get the chance to continue, because there was suddenly a draft in the room and a shadow in the corner.

Steph froze. Batman advanced as a brightly-colored shadow appeared in the window after him, and he gave Steph a dark look she could read even with the cowl on. Robin, behind him, looked apologetic.

Steph set her jaw, and glared back.

Batman turned away from her, and towards Jason, who hadn’t moved from the couch, facing away from Batman, head down.

“You killed the Joker,” Batman said dispassionately – but Steph could hear the disapproval in his voice. Judging by the way Jason tensed, he could hear it too. Robin winced, still hovering near the window.

“You need to leave Gotham,” Batman continued levelly, “The Joker has allies. Killing him made you a target and –”

“A target?” Jason laughed, low and hoarse and dark. He stood up in a fluid motion and turned to face Batman. “More of a target than that yellow cape?”

Batman froze. Robin stilled. Steph glanced between Batman and Jason, and felt like she should be holding her breath.

“Don’t worry, old man,” Jason said softly, “I’m leaving Gotham. I finished what I came here for.”

Steph sucked in a sharp breath as Batman took a slow step forward.

“Jason?” he asked, and Jason balled his hands into fists to hide the shaking. Suddenly, something in Batman’s face sharpened, “You killed the Joker.”

Jason exhaled slowly, and his fists released. “Yeah,” he said, quiet and vicious, “I did what you were always too much of a coward to contemplate. Even after he _murdered_ your _kid_.”

And then he spun on his heel and walked out.

Any one of them could’ve stopped him, but Robin hadn’t moved from the window and Batman was still frozen to the spot, so Steph took the opportunity.

“Congratulations, Batman,” Steph snarled, stepping into his face, “And just when I think you can’t be any more of a fuck-up than you already are, you turn judgmental over your _son_ killing the guy who _horrifically murdered him._ ”

Batman opened his mouth, but Steph was past caring about what he had to say. “You’re an asshole,” Steph hissed, “No _wonder_ he didn’t want to see you.”

She saw her words hit – saw his mouth press to a thin line as he flinched – but she didn’t stick around to see his reaction.

* * *

She caught up to Jason a block over – he was distracted, head down and path meandering, like he didn’t know which direction he wanted to go.

“Jason,” Steph breathed out, falling in step with him, “Jason, hey.” She placed a hand on his arm and he slowed to a stop near the mouth of an alley. “Remember what you said?” Steph asked, hoping for a glimpse of his face, “Fuck Batman. Fuck what he thinks. As far as I’m concerned, you did the world a service.”

Jason exhaled slowly, listing sideways until he was leaning against the alley wall. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely.

The silence stretched.

“Are you really going to leave?” Steph asked softly, something twisting inside her chest.

Jason finally raised his head, regarding her with tired green eyes. Hunched in on himself, he looked less threatening. Less like the guy that had caved the Joker’s skull in with a tire iron.

“Can’t exactly stay,” Jason answered quietly.

“What are you going to do?” Steph asked, because he _couldn’t_ leave. Not now. Not –

The strong aroma of coffee, a half-chuckle, pen scratching against paper in tune to the whisper of pages turning –

Not after everything.

“I don’t know,” Jason said, almost too low to hear, “I don’t – God, Steph, _I don’t know_.” He was shaking again as he buried his head in his hands. “I didn’t – I didn’t fucking plan for an _after_ , I didn’t – I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe he’s _actually gone_.”

He slid down the wall until he was crouching, his arms wrapping around his knees, and Steph followed him down, placing a careful hand on one knee.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “He’s dead, he can’t hurt you again, you’re going to be okay.”

Jason took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly, repeating it again and again until he no longer sounded two steps away from hyperventilation. “Fuck,” Jason said quietly, letting his head thud back against the wall. The sound was strangely loud in the silent night.

Steph took a glance around them. A random alley in Crime Alley wasn’t exactly the safest place to take a breather. If she could get him to her place – or the Clocktower, that was defensible, and Barbara would let Jason stay until he figured out what he wanted to do next.

Unfortunately, before she could try to convince him, there was a flutter of a cape.

Jason tensed immediately.

Steph straightened, stepping between Jason and Batman. “You really can’t take a hint, can you?” Steph hissed, as Robin dropped from the fire escape, “ _Go away_.”

Batman took a step forward, ignoring her, his gaze fixed at a point over his shoulder. Steph set her jaw and her stance – she didn’t care if he was the goddamn Batman, she wasn’t letting him get to Jay.

Robin flashed a hand signal at her. _Wait_.

She glared at him as Batman took another step forward, almost at her shoulder, and Robin made the signal again, his face pleading.

“Jason?” Batman asked – but that wasn’t Batman’s voice, it was too soft to be Batman’s voice – and Steph gritted her teeth and decided to trust Robin.

She didn’t step to block Batman as he moved around her, and turned to see him getting closer to Jason, who was standing at the mouth of the alley, rooted to the spot.

“Jay,” he said, still in that strange, gentle tone, “Jay-lad.”

Steph didn’t see who had moved first, but Jason’s hands were bunched in Batman’s cape and those gauntleted arms were locked around Jason and _someone_ was crying, she could hear the hitched breaths.

Steph cast an aside glance at Robin when he stepped to her side. “What did you _do_?” she asked quietly.

“What I do best,” Robin hummed, “Pull B out of his own head.”

She gave him another side glance. In front of them, Batman – _Bruce_ had started muttering something too low for them to hear, but Steph could catch _‘son’_ and _‘home’_ and _‘please’_.

“I’m glad I don’t have your job,” Steph exhaled.

* * *

Steph was sitting on the cot next to Jason, her legs swinging – this was her first time in the Batcave as a civilian, and everyone seemed to be following the theme. Tim had completely changed out of his Robin costume, Bruce had taken off his cowl, and Jason had been forced to change into fresh clothes and shuffled into a full check-up.

Bruce claimed that it was typical protocol for Joker encounters, but Steph was pretty sure he was running a DNA check among all the other tests. Jason had started to argue, but then Alfred had come down the stairs, and any protests had died at the sight of Alfred’s tears.

There was a roar of a motorcycle winding into the Cave – and Steph was pretty sure that everyone independently came to the realization that there was still _one_ person they hadn’t told as Nightwing got off his bike.

“What the hell’s going on, B?” Nightwing asked, heading for the Batcomputer platform and Bruce, casting an askance glance around the Cave, “They’re saying that the Joker’s _dead_ , what happened –”

His gaze skipped past Steph. And caught on Jason.

For a moment, it looked like Nightwing was going to faint.

“Dream,” he stuttered, burying his head in his hands, “Of – of _course_ it’s a dream –”

“Not a dream,” Tim cut him off, stepping up to knock his fist against Nightwing’s side.

“Dick,” Bruce said softly, “It’s not a dream.”

Nightwing slowly, warily drew his head up, his gaze skipping over everyone in the Cave. Steph waved when it landed on her.

His jaw tightened to something more decisive as he stepped past Tim, heading straight for them. Jason watched his approach with narrowed eyes, still and silent.

Nightwing slowed when he got close, pausing a few feet away from Jason and raising one wavering hand. Steph half-expected Jason to jerk back, but he didn’t move, letting Nightwing’s hand land on his shoulder.

“You’re – you’re _real_ ,” Nightwing said, awe and wonder and desperate hope.

“Yeah, Dickie,” Jason said hoarsely, his hand curling around Nightwing’s wrist, “I’m real.”

Nightwing practically _tackled_ Jason, and Steph couldn’t hear anything he was saying amidst the sobbing. Jason had half-buried his face in Nightwing’s hair, holding on tightly, and Steph eased off the cot and walked back to the Cave proper, letting them have their reunion.

Tim also drifted closer to Jason and Nightwing, something achingly painful in his eyes, and Steph found herself standing near the Batcomputer.

Near _Bruce_.

“You met Jason three weeks ago,” Bruce said, doing that annoying thing where his voice was perfectly devoid of emotion and still managed to sound disapproving.

Steph crossed her arms and glared, “I didn’t know he was Jason. I met _Jay_ three weeks ago.”

“You met Jason a week ago,” Bruce changed easily, spinning in the chair to stare at her with that inscrutable gaze.

Steph met it, standing her ground. “Yup,” she said.

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“It may have escaped your notice, Batman, but I don’t answer to you. Jason didn’t want to talk to you. So yes, _I didn’t tell you_.” She added a scowl for good measure.

Bruce kept staring at her, and she resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders. He had a way of making her feel like a child throwing a tantrum, and she _hated_ it. She didn’t want his approval. He was an emotionally stunted bastard that didn’t know how to use his words and –

“Thank you.”

Steph gaped at him.

“ _What_?” she half-squeaked.

“Thank you,” Bruce repeated easily.

“For _what_?”

“For being there for Jason,” Bruce said quietly, “You’re right –” Steph almost choked – “He didn’t want to see me. I’m glad he still had family with him.”

Steph stared at him, unsure of which part of that statement she should dissect first, because all of it was incomprehensible.

“I – I didn’t do anything,” Steph stuttered, taking a step back, because she didn’t know if Bruce had talked to Barbara or Tim, but one of them had clearly inflated her role in the whole thing, “I didn’t even know it was _him_. I wasn’t – I was just in the right place at the right time –”

“The thing no one tells you about being a vigilante,” Bruce said quietly, “Is that a lot of it is being in the right place at the right time.” Steph stared at him. “And you do a very good job of picking the right place and choosing the right time, Spoiler.”

It wasn’t an _‘I’m proud of you’_.

But it sure sounded like one.

* * *

“Wait,” Tim asked, frowning from his position squished in between Jason and Dick. Alfred had to reach over Dick to give him his cup of tea. “Why a _coffee shop_? There had to be better ways to kill –” he caught sight of Bruce’s scowl and hastily cut off.

“Yeah, I was originally planning to go the gang route,” Jason half-shrugged, taking his cup, “And then the demon brat said, forget being a crime lord, he didn’t think I could even run a coffee shop. I had to prove the little snot wrong.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared at him. Even Alfred paused and raised an eyebrow.

“That is so incredibly stupid I don’t even know where to start,” Steph said flatly, accepting her cup from Alfred and leaning against Jason’s shoulder, “And who’s the ‘demon brat’?”

Jason blinked at her, “Oh. Right.” He tilted his head to look at Bruce. “You have another kid, B.” Bruce frowned in the middle of taking a sip. “Left a little present in Nanda Parbat on your last visit.”

Bruce choked on his tea, and Jason’s laughter rang out, bright and loud and clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damian is very much not pleased when he shows up in Gotham to realize that his ~~big brother~~ gofer has two other little siblings. He attempts to remedy this, and chooses to go after Stephanie first, under the assumptions that she's the weakest of the two and still a semi-outsider to the family. [[Batcellanea ch5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792421/chapters/73549059).]
> 
> These assumptions are wrong. On the plus side, Damian gains a new big sister.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: the Joker dies.


End file.
